


Under The Weather

by The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea



Series: Facets [1]
Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders - RPF, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ADHD!Patton, Anxious!Virgil, Autistic!Logan, Bipolar!Roman, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTA Dads - relationship - Freeform, PTA Dads ship name found here on ao3, Prinxiety - Freeform, Sickfic, Stage Fright - relationship, Stage Fright ship name from tumblr user dragonrider167, headcanons, logicality - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea/pseuds/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea
Summary: Virgil takes sick, and his loving boyfriend notices, as do the others.





	Under The Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/gifts).



> First fic for Sanders Sides! Exciting! I will be incorporating my headcanons for the sides throughout other fics; this one is to get my feet wet in the fandom.

Virgil settled beneath a simple black blanket with a sigh. Today was just… too much, and he was tired of dealing with constant conflict. As far as he was concerned, everyone could go away. He shifted under the blanket irritably; it wasn’t fully covering his feet and that’s how he liked to sleep. Without his feet covered, he felt oddly bare. He thrashed his feet wildly when the cover didn’t settle properly. 

“Whoa, Hot Topic, what did that poor, defenseless blanket do to you?” Roman asked, coming up in his usual dramatic fashion. Unfortunately, Virgil was startled right off his seat, feet entrapped in the blanket, and hit the ground with a thud. 

Roman’s laugh blared in his ears. “Excellent display of your ineptitude,” he chuckled. 

Virgil shrank into himself. That stung a lot more than Roman probably thought it did… unless he meant it? He meant it, Virgil was certain he did. And he was right. Virgil was always getting in the way of the other sides, not to mention Thomas’ own plans for himself. Inept was one way to put it… useless was another. And really? That was just saying what Roman really meant, but more effectively.

These thoughts clenched up in Virgil’s chest, a finger dipped in ice water worming in between his ribs and finding its way into his heart. His expression must have given something away, because Roman’s softened the slightest bit. Prone as he was to detecting change, Virgil definitely noticed. Was that pity?

He balled up his fists tightly against his palms, fingers digging in sharply. Virgil’s fingernails were always jagged due to his ripping them from the quick, like tearing off a bandage. Patton always scolded him about it. Virgil didn’t much care.

“Just get out,” he said darkly, but of course Princey wouldn’t follow orders. He got closer instead, scrutinizing Virgil with an intensity that reminded him of Logan. 

The pallor on Virgil’s face, disingenuously matched with flushed cheeks; the drop of sweat making its way down his forehead; and, most importantly, the way he was determinedly not looking Roman’s way...

“You’re not feeling tip-top, are you?” Roman asked, a triumphant smile curling his lips. He’d figured out Virgil, something of a feat considering how much of himself he shut away. 

Virgil opened his mouth to answer, indignant, but Roman spoke over him. “Patton, Logan! I think my Mr. Stormcloud has come down with a cold!” 

Patton popped up instantly, holding Logan in a cuddly hug. Logan coughed and pushed the cheery trait away, adjusting his glasses to hide his blush. “Er, hello,” he murmured.

Patton was a bit more enthusiastic in his greeting. “Oh, my gosh! Virgil, sweetie… I could tell something was off, you've been in your room a lot more than usual lately,” he fretted, wringing his hands. “I wish I’d noticed sooner… or that you’d told me sooner, you little scamp!”

Virgil went to sink down. He’d lock the door of his room, or retreat somewhere else in the mindscape where they couldn’t possibly find him, like under the kitchen sink or something, or…

Roman grabbed him by his hood, preventing him from going any lower. “Ah-ta-ta,” he tsked, “you, my friend, are not going anywhere.”

“But!” Virgil protested, trying to shake Roman off. Unfortunately, the creative trait was quite a bit more muscled than the lanky (scrawny) Virgil, and he was easily overpowered. He soon found himself slung over Roman’s shoulder, hanging as helplessly as a kitten. Patton stroked his hair, smiling gently, while Logan looked on sympathetically. 

“C’mon, Virgil. Let’s get you settled,” Patton said, looking down at Virgil. Virgil grumbled, blushing heavily. 

“I don’t need to be settled, Dad,” he mumbled. “I need to… I need to be alone.”

“And do what, pray tell?” Roman scoffed at him. “No, I think you need a proper rest-- none of this catnap nonsense.”

Logan chimed in, “Yes, Virgil. I think it prudent to lie down and obtain at the bare minimum eight hours of rest.” 

Virgil muttered something under his breath, and Patton leaned in. 

“Say again, kiddo?”

“I…” he faltered, hating all the eyes on him: Logan's fascinated, Patton’s gentle, and Roman’s worried. “I can’t sleep. ‘S why I’m sick, okay? Christ.”

Logan frowned, a glint of lamplight briefly reflecting off his glasses. It made him inscrutable, and Virgil squirmed in Roman’s grip unhappily. Logan was hard enough to read already.

“And how long have you been awake, then?” Logan asked, placing his hand over Virgil’s forehead. “You’re definitely running a fever…”

“Uh, well,” Virgil twisted his face into Roman’s shoulder, “it’s been four days without any sleep, and a week without proper sleep on a bed.”

He waited out the ensuing silence for as long as he could, but it quickly became unendurable. Lifting his head, he ventured a glance at the others. What he saw there made him duck his head right back against Roman.

They were looking down at him with such, such gentleness, it hurt his heart to look at. Who was he to receive this sort of care? His thoughts rapidly began to spiral down: he was worthless, worse, he was parasitic, a tumor on their time. He sucked away their energy for things they could be, should be, would be doing--

Logan snapped his fingers crisply in front of Virgil’s face, drawing his attention from the intrinsic to the extrinsic. “Hello, there,” he smiled when Virgil’s eyes focused on him. “It seems you’ve caught yourself in a loop, try to focus on me. I postulate that you’ve managed to wear yourself down, similar to--”

“--a really stubby pencil!” Patton interrupted. Logan took a second to shoot him a bemused look, then continued speaking. 

“--Thomas, actually, when he’s burnt himself out. When he works at such a pace, without adequate sleep or food or social interaction, he tends to become exhausted. You’ve become so concerned with protecting Thoms-- being hypervigilant, as it were, if you’ll pardon the pun-- that you’ve exhausted all your energy.”

Virgil looked quite a bit amused. “What?” Logan asked, brow furrowed. He noticed that the others were looking at him with the same weary fondness on their faces, and tried to parse just what they were thinking. Facial expressions weren’t his strong suit; he was autistic, and social interaction was definitely not his area. This, however, was especially baffling. 

Roman picked up on his confusion. “Oh, Logan… you could have just as easily been describing yourself as of late.”

Logan pushed his glasses farther up his nose bridge, scoffing. “Oh, you cannot be serious,” he said with a light laugh. “Right now, it’s Virgil that we must tend to.”

Patton wagged a finger at Logan. “Now, love… you can't hope to brush off our concerns! You’ve been running yourself down into the ground.”

Logan scowled, turning to Roman. “Can you believe this? The nerve!”

But Roman’s expression was unimpressed. “No, I think Patton is justified. I've been having many of the same worries, myself.”

And then, Logan tripped up. He made the mistake of forgetting to hold back the building cough in his chest, so caught up was he in arguing his point that a prolonged coughing fit exploded out of him, doubling him over. He continued hacking for a good forty seconds until he curbed the urge.

Patton was at his side instantly, rubbing his back and making worried sounds. “Oh, sweetie,” he murmured, and Logan’s cheeks flushed red. He straightened up, adjusting his necktie brusquely.

“I’m f-fine,” he insisted, wincing inwardly when he stammered. Roman and Patton shared a look and a subtle nod.

“Of course you are, sunshine,” Patton soothed. “I’d just like to check you for a temp, though.”

Logan froze up. He was most definitely running a fever, but Patton couldn’t know that. His boyfriend would go into Intense Care Mode, and he’d be laid up in bed for hours, if not days… imagine all the wasted productivity! He backed up, but found himself cornered.

Patton reached out a hand and laid it against his borfriend’s forehead, tutting when he found it to be too warm. “Well, that settles it, Lo. Both you and the kiddo are sick. Bedrest for you both!”

With that, he scooped Logan right up. He struggled in Patton’s arms for a second, then realized how undignified he was likely looking to Virgil and Roman and stopped, folding his arms. 

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, and Virgil sighed.

“Tell me about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at dashing-hyphen on Tumblr; hit me up with prompts!


End file.
